All the blog posts

Pictures had to wait until I got a better connection, but they’re here now. A great mystery of this walk has been the excellent mobile connection I get for most of the day when out in the wilds, followed by disastrously bad signal when I’m comfortably in my B&B.

I spent half an hour after breakfast on careful foot maintenance. It paid off handsomely, with much less discomfort than yesterday despite rougher walking conditions. More of the same tomorrow.

The first highlight of the day was a very impressive bracket fungus colony on a tree just outside Gilsland.

On to Thirlwall Castle, a decaying 15th century keep that helped to discourage the Border Reivers – and, of course, consumed the stone from a mile or two of Hadrian’s Wall.

Just before the castle the path makes a completely unprotected crossing of the Newcastle to Carlisle railway – a hazard that the legionaries presumably didn’t need to worry about.

There were also some fine views of the overall shape of the Wall earthworks, which are surprisingly extensive on the southern (Roman) side of the Wall line.

I popped into the Roman Army Museum at Walltown, but they wouldn’t sell me a coffee unless I paid up for a 3D immersive video experience. Since I was busy with an immersive experience of my own, I continued coffee-less, marvelling in passing at Walltown Crags quarry which, right up to the 1940s, brutally and unforgivably chomped its way through both crag and archaeology to mine the hard gritty dolerite for roadstone. This wasn’t the first time on the walk I’d seen the famous Whin Sill, but from this point all the way to Housesteads it’s the magnificent dominant feature of the landscape. It’s hardly surprising Hadrian’s engineers chose its crest to carry the Wall, as the north-facing cliff must have saved them no end of ditch-digging.

Ancient eroded escarpments come at a price for walkers, though. The Wall and path go through a seemingly endless series of fierce little switchbacks, gaining a couple of hundred feet in height over as many yards, only to lose that height again a few paces further on. To avoid erosion the path now has steps on most of these “nicks”, but they still cost plenty of puff in the way mountaineering author W.A.Poucher so memorably described as “collar work”. Numerous photos were taken, making a fine excuse for equally numerous short breaks – I averaged only about 1.6mph today.

My combination of slowness, sore feet and poor aerobic fitness led me to abandon plans for a side trip to Vindolanda museum. It’ll just have to wait for another visit. Similarly, I was debating whether to divert half a mile to the new visitor centre “The Sill” at Once Brewed, when a friendly couple told me that I could instead get my much-desired cuppa from a food van parked in a viewpoint car park right beside the trail. By the time I arrived the promised mobile tea shop had packed up and gone home, and I was so despondent I just carried on.

By now I was very close to the famously photogenic Sycamore Gap. On the way up one of the nicks just before it… my phone crashed. I have no idea why. Perhaps it just knew its services were about to be in demand. Anyway, that made me realize how much I’d come to depend on it: clock, camera, location reporting device, speedometer, compass, OS map display (I’ll have more to say about the OS map app in another post). I have the SLR camera with me too, and it takes better photos, but I have no way to copy them into the blog. Anyway, out came the SLR from my pack. At last, though, just at the top of the steps down to Sycamore Gap, I figured out how to restart the phone by doing a wardance on its volume and on-off buttons. Normally of course I’d just ask Google how to do it, but… you get the idea.

The stretch from Sycamore Gap to Housesteads is just a delight. Up-and-down a-plenty, including some sneaky little unexpected ones that aren’t too obvious from the contour map, but wonderfully varied views including the dramatic rock formations above Crag Lough.

And so down to the sprawling Roman remains of Housesteads, and a very short road walk to my fine B&B at Beggarbog. It’s just a pity the WiFi isn’t a bit better so I could upload pictures.

Now for some scheming of tomorrow’s epic 21-mile slog to Stamfordham. It looks like I didn’t quite plan that one correctly. Most of it is fairly flat, but not all; and the weather promises to be interesting.

I had chosen this remote B&B because its location fitted my plans well, giving me a fairly short journey on the day I was passing the craggiest and most scenic parts of the trail. I don’t regret the choice at all, but the visit wasn’t all plain sailing. First, the proprietor Tris was very slow in responding to my request for confirmation of the booking – in the end he phoned me only 36 hours before I was due to arrive. Of course he was expecting me, no problem at all.  As with everywhere I’ve stayed, he was genial and welcoming, and did everything he could to help. He couldn’t, though, do anything about the power failure at 7am on Thursday morning (probably thanks to the very strong winds). And because his place gets its water pumped up from a spring, no power means no water. Tris was very resourceful – he gave us big bottles of supermarket water for minimal ablutions, and somehow rustled up a very serviceable breakfast on a single camping stove.

To round off my ill-fated stay at Beggarbog, I then realized that I’d forgotten to get my trail passport stamped at Housesteads half a mile back. Unwilling to add another mile to Thursday’s 21-mile odyssey, I just skipped it and took a selfie at Beggarbog instead.

The weather forecast had been threatening storms and rain for this day, and the real thing didn’t disappoint. There was a truly ferocious west wind, courtesy of Storm Hector.

My choice to go west-to-east, against the direction in most guidebooks, was looking rather smart as I bowled along only just keeping my balance, while other walkers (mostly serious-looking Germans and Dutch) were fighting their way westward with gritted teeth and firmly battened-down cagoules. Fortunately the rain came in short showers, and with a warm wind that would have given the Dyson Airblade an inferiority complex I was never damp for long.
After a brief but unforgiving upward pull from Beggarbog back to the trail on the sill edge, I reached Sewingshields Crag which is perhaps the most airy and vertiginous part of the trail. Certainly, with a gale blowing it seemed sensible to Mind the Gap.

Soon the terrain became gentler and I arrived at the remains of Brocolitia fort and its cute little temple to Mithras, with some interesting carved stones. Mithras is very much the soldier’s deity, an all-male cult with macho trimmings such as bull-slaying, so it’s no surprise to find a Mithraeum just outside a fort.

Down into Chollerford, past Chesters fort (another passport stamp) and road maintenance crews clearing up fallen trees, then on to the excellent trucker’s and walker’s café, just beside the bridge, which provided a fine home-made meat pie. It must have been good – a young couple at an adjacent table were feeding one to their year-old baby who was very obviously enjoying it.
Beyond Chollerford the trail is much less spectacular. There are few Roman vestiges other than the ever-present ditch and vallum, and the scenery is much gentler. Along with the fine moorland vistas, there are occasional reminders that history around here isn’t exclusively Roman.

In truth the easier field walking was extremely welcome, because my blisters were becoming really uncomfortable. I was able to keep up a steady 3mph for the whole of the remaining 11 miles, by far the fastest progress since Monday. The path hugs the B6318 and there are endless reminders of how much more there is to do.

At 6pm I reached the Robin Hood Inn at East Wallhouses, had a pint, and once again left without remembering to stamp my passport. Then a weary but easy 3-mile slog up a side road to tonight’s stay in Stamfordham and a nightcap in the Swinburne Arms nearby – a true village local so intriguing that I not only took a snap but also recorded some of the fabulous Geordie accents in the bar.

Thanks are in order to the charming Dingle Dell Café in Heddon-on-the-Wall, which provided my first (and last) morning coffee stop of the walk. I hope they raise enough money for their little project. Putting some change in their collection bucket seemed a reasonable thank-offering for a welcome break.

I’ve had many very generous donations, all hugely appreciated. This one, though, is a little bit special. I bumped into an American couple who were touring with her father, who lives with Parkinson’s. I gave them a leaflet but certainly didn’t expect this. People continue to surprise and delight.

I’ve at last dropped down from Heddon and reached the Tyne riverbank, which I’ll now follow all the way to Wallsend. Just behind the white house on the far (south) bank is the railway line that took me from Newcastle to Hexham nearly a week ago. I still have about 12 miles to trudge, but it’s all fairly easy and flat. The end is in sight.

Here’s Jonathan looking clapped-out but smug at the end point, at 7.40pm on Friday – too late to visit the museum, but roughly on schedule.

I’ll post more about the final 24 hours later, but I can’t cross the finish line without mentioning two lovely people I met this evening.

Lynn and Rick from the Tyne and Wear Active Persons’ Group of Parkinson’s UK had somehow got wind of what I was doing, and planned to ambush me (in a nice way!) at the end. I knew nothing of this, and unwittingly spoiled their plan by stopping for a 2-hour rest in my hotel in Newcastle before doing the last 4½ miles to Segedunum. Nevertheless, people wearing Parkinson’s tops can spot one another at 200 paces, so we caught up with each other on the quayside. I don’t think I let on, but I was close to tears at their kindness and encouragement.

And so it ends. Feet are really quite sore, but that’s nothing a long hot bath won’t fix. Home tomorrow.

Thanks, everyone, for your overwhelming generosity and encouragement. I hope I haven’t let you down – no short-cuts were taken, but I had to abandon a couple of planned side trips because I was too tired, or arrived somewhere too late. Watch this space for a cleaned-up blog and a proper picture gallery in the next day or two.

Cheryl, who runs the peerless B&B at 3 North Side in Stamfordham, kindly gave me a lift back to the trail at Whittledene – saving me the 3-mile off-trail road tramp that I’d already done the other way on Thursday evening.
The next few miles to Heddon-on-the-Wall were benign enough, Thursday’s wild weather having passed over, but there was little of interest. That supremely energetic builder of military roads, General Wade, constructed what is now the B6318 in the 1750s and took full advantage of the convenient supply of cut stone that Hadrian had so thoughtfully left for him along most of the route. According to this interpretation panel at Rudchester (Vindobala), conservationists (or, at least, William Stukeley) were even then railing against this state-sponsored vandalism:

After coffee in Heddon-on-the-Wall the path dropped steeply to the Tyne near Wylam, notable for its early riverside Waggonway which the path then follows for many miles.

The trail now follows a well-used bridleway known as Hadrian’s Way. Before long there is evidence that tonight’s bed in Newcastle is within reach.

Tyneside then slowly begins to reveal herself, teasing like a coy but knowing courtesan. Little by little we penetrate her humdrum outer layers…

… and unmistakable but veiled hints of the riverside metropolis to come…

… before finally revealing a first glimpse of her central delights.

Some of the old glory is faded, like this former fish market now serving as shady music venue:

but she saves the best for last as the stunning Sage Centre at last comes into view under the iconic Tyne Bridge.

At this point I headed a few yards up into town to check in to my final overnight stop and take a breather before doing the very last stretch to Wallsend. I’ve already mentioned how my long rest stop messed-up Lynn and Rick’s delightful plans to welcome me at the end, and how I met them on the quayside just after setting out again. They had also met two charming American ladies, Joan and Marge, who were about to begin their own Wall walk. I met them near St Peter’s Marina and was given my second heartwarming morale boost of the evening.

Only two miles to go now, but each step was uncomfortable (did I mention the blisters?) and it took a while. At last, though, it was all over and I could take the tram back to my hotel with a clear conscience:

and change into clean clothes, and consume not just any old beer but Brewdog Punk IPA, a truly fitting end to an exhausting and memorable week.